“What time do you have to pick up Freddie?” I ask, adjusting my sun hat so it covers my face but still lets me breathe.

“One o’clock,” she murmurs. “Do you think our babies have absorbed enough vitamin D yet?”

I was given a folder brimming with pamphlets and other baby paraphernalia from Margot at class a couple of nights ago (I went on my own this time after telling Elliot firmly he was not to come). One of the pamphlets went on about how the womb can absorb vitamin D directly from the sun. I have no idea if it’s working, but I’m loving the feeling of warmth on my belly and my baby does too, judging by its acrobatics.

“Thank God my maple tree has grown enough to screen off the neighbour’s kitchen window,” I say. “He’d be calling the police, complaining of indecent exposure.”

We both laugh. I’m exaggerating, but he’s a fairly intimidating old guy. Plus, it was kind of creepy the way I’d occasionally catch him standing at his window staring at me in the garden while he sipped his cup of tea. Well, I assume he was staring at me. Maybe he has shocking eyesight and was looking at some random blurry shapes. I’m trying not to be so quick to judge people after my talk with Tash. Lily thinks my boss’ sob story in no way makes up for her poor treatment of me, but that’s Lily through and through. There’s black and there’s white, and that’s it as far as she’s concerned. I’m various shades of grey, especially when it comes to trying to figure out other people.

“Scott popped into the café yesterday,” Emma says casually.

“What?” I sit up and my hat falls onto the grass. “Why?”

Emma shrugs, her eyes still closed against the sun. “For something to eat, I guess. I was busy in the kitchen but spied him as he was about to leave.”

“Oh.” I lie back down, feeling disappointed but not wanting to show it.

“I dashed out to say hi and he asked after you,” says Emma. “Why didn’t you tell us he was with you when you found out the DNA results?”

“I forgot, I guess.”

Emma’s quiet and I think she’s going to leave the conversation alone, when she pipes up again.

“He said you both helped out at the City Mission on Christmas Day. Did that slip your memory, too?”

I wrinkle my lips. “Yeah, must have.” I’m attempting nonchalance, but I’m not sure I’ve achieved it.

“Sure,” Emma says. “Keep telling yourself you don’t care about the guy and it’s bound to sink in eventually, Trish.”